


Simple

by ClarySage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarySage/pseuds/ClarySage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade quite enjoys being a relatively simple human being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple

Greg Lestrade is out on his morning run when the phone rings. He jogs past the phone box, taking note of it but not stopping. A couple of blocks later and he's working up a sweat, another phone box looming on the corner. It begins to ring as he approaches so he stops, enters the little box and picks up the receiver.

“Hello?” He says, panting. Also suspicious, because he's heard all about this from John.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.” A voice on the other end says silkily, and Greg's suspicions are confirmed. He's been in a room with Mycroft a few times, he knows who he is and he knows the man's voice. He catches the CCTV camera on the corner of the building opposite moving pointedly away, and glances towards the traffic cam to watch it do the same.

“Come on then, let's get this over-with.” He sighs into the phone, then hangs up and steps out of the phone box just as the black car glides up to the kerb.

The P.A. – Anthea again today – gestures for him to get out at the warehouse. He does so and she stays in the car, never once having looked up from her phone. He's sure she's doing something important on there, but he can't help being reminded of the bloody teenagers he keeps having to arrest. He shouldn't even be doing it, he's a DI for Christ's sake, but they seem to have a lemming-like compulsion to do illegal things in front of him and he doesn't like them enough not to slap the cuffs on and scare the shit out of them. Plus it makes him laugh, and he's a man of simple pleasures. He almost always lets them go with a warning – not official – and he likes to think the majority behave themselves from then on. He never sees most of them again, so chances are it's true.

Mycroft Holmes is leaning on his umbrella, and Lestrade feels a little under dressed. He's wearing a ratty black t-shirt and grey tracksuit bottoms and he's pretty sure his hair is sticking out all over the place, and he's knackered. It's his day off, for fuck's sake, and he doesn't need this. He would have stayed in bed if he'd been able to sleep, but life isn't that kind to him and he just had to leave the house on the day Mycroft decides to have their special chat. He suspects this is the same warehouse John Watson found himself in, Mycroft must like it.

“Ah, Inspector.” Mycroft purrs, smiling at him. 

“Morning, Mycroft.” Lestrade says, not intimidated in the least. There's no chair, but there is a small table with a bottle of water on it. He picks it up, checks the seal absently. “If you drug me you can explain to your brother why he's not allowed onto my crime scenes any more.” Of course, they both know he'd carry on letting Sherlock in, because Sherlock actually solves crimes. Also, there's the distinct possibility that if Lestrade didn't throw him cases now and then the younger Holmes would start making his own cases. Donovan is a lot more convinced of that than he is though, since he regularly has a quiet pint with Sherlock's conscience: Dr John Watson.

“I assure you, it's perfectly safe.” Mycroft reassures, although nothing Mycroft says is ever very reassuring of anything apart from the fact that he could have you killed. Lestrade shrugs and twists the cap off the water bottle, leaning back against the bonnet of the car since there aren't any seats and he's tired. Mycroft follows his movements with something that Lestrade doesn't recognise in his eyes. He'd been expecting an expression of polite distaste, which he thinks he quite enjoys causing. 

“So, Sherlock's fine. Clean and healthy and scampering around London with John, solving crimes and annoying the crap out of everyone he meets.” Greg comments, raising the water bottle and taking a long draught from it, throat parched. When he's downed about half the bottle he gives a gasped puff of breath and then rolls his shoulders, waiting for Mycroft to get to the point. The man is watching him like a hawk, and all he really wants to do is get home, have a hot shower and put his feet up to some good TV. 

“Excellent to hear.” Mycroft smiles again. “And I suppose, were I to offer you a substantial amount of money to-”

“Nope.” Lestrade cuts him off. “I'll stop you incriminating yourself by attempting to bribe a DI.” He grins a little, knows Mycroft probably doesn't care but doesn't really want his money all the same. He's already doing a lot more than he should be for Sherlock. He considers Sherlock a friend, no matter what the lanky sod says, and he puts up with the incredible amount of paperwork Sherlock causes because he cares. Not to say he isn't glad John turned up, bloody hell. If anyone needs a handler it's Sherlock Holmes, and Greg's usually a bit busy and a member of the police force. It's unbelievable how often he has to look the other way when Sherlock is around.

“Really?” Mycroft raises both eyebrows, and Greg can feel those sharp eyes burning into him like lasers. He could also feel them burning into his chest when he leant back against the car, and his throat when he drank from the water bottle. He finds it both flattering and amusing. “I'm aware of the excess of paperwork my brother sometimes entails, and that it often falls to you to deal with such things.”

Lestrade snorts.

“Yeah, he 'sometimes entails' enough paperwork to make me want to jump out of a fucking window, so I could do without writing you daily reports as well. If you want to know how he is, go and see him. He'll get used to it eventually.” And John is usually pretty good at playing peacemaker when Sherlock rubs someone – everyone – up the wrong way. Greg takes another swig of his water and watches Mycroft's eyes flick to his throat for a moment when he swallows. It feels nice to be appreciated, especially by someone as powerful as Mycroft Holmes.

“He and I have a rather...strained relationship.” Mycroft says and actually sighs, which is rather human of him.

“That's family for you,” Lestrade replies, rolling his shoulders again because he's achy. It's partly because he didn't sleep very well and partly because some prat knocked him down a flight of stairs about a week ago. The bad night managed to aggravate every one of the almost-healed bruises on his back, but he's still smiling, because when he gets home he's going to find the comfiest position he can on the couch and order a Chinese takeaway, and he's proud of the fact that he doesn't need much more for contentment. “Have you ever eaten chow mein out of a carton and spent the whole day on the couch watching Doctor Who?” He asks suddenly, draining the last of the water and watching the way Mycroft's eyebrow raises.

“I... No, I can't say I have.” The elder Holmes brother answers, clearly thrown off by the question. He's looking at Lestrade in the way Sherlock looks at something he finds interesting, and he suspects that he's just become some sort of puzzle to the aristocrat. 

“You should try it.” Greg grins again, then places the empty bottle back on the table and moves to open the car door. “Good talk, anyway. If you need anything else, pop 'round the flat or the pub or somewhere there's seats and a pint.” He gives a little wave and gets into the car, shuts the door behind him and nods at Anthea. “Well? Tally ho.”

She actually smiles at him, and he gets the feeling she heard every word of his thinly-veiled invitation to her boss. He also gets the feeling she doesn't care, so he tries not to over-think the whole situation. That's more the Holmes' department, and as the car peels away he sees Mycroft still standing there, deep in thought.

Sometimes he likes being a relatively simple human being.


End file.
